Fanfiction Hell
by labelma
Summary: What happens when a naughty fanfiction writer dies? *Not Scary*


**A/N: this started out as a school project on the inferno, but I thought it was kinda funny, so I decided to post it. I suggest that some of you learn from this. Yes I am looking at you petris shippers. **

"Leilah! Go to bed in 10 minutes."

"Just a second mom. I want to finish this story. Just a few more chapters!"

I yawn. This story is getting boring. I feel like 10 pound weights are strapped to my eyes. If I just close my eyes for a few seconds I can keep reading.

When I open my eyes, I am in a large bleak office filled with cubicles. The room is huge, with thousands and thousands of cubicles. The walls are all plain white except for one dark doorway.

"Where am I?" I ask, but no one answers. The only sound is the clicking of a million fingers typing.

I walk up to the nearest man to me. He is dressed in a stiff grey suit.

"Hey, do you know where I am?" He doesn't answer. He doesn't even look my way.

"Um excuse me? Hello?" I say. He still doesn't answer. I shake his shoulder, but he just keeps typing.

"I wouldn't waste my time. He can't answer. It's against the rules." Says a woman's voice.

"Huh?"

I turn around to see an average height woman with short black hair, round eyes, and a faint smile.

"Veronica Roth?"

"Yes that's me."

"Um where am I? Why are you here? Why can't these people respond to me?"

She smiles,

"Let me explain. You are in a section of Hell reserved for Fanfiction writers. I am here to guide you through it. They can't respond because it's one of the many rules we have here. No talking to anyone, or you get an extra 500 years of punishment."

"Okaaay. So Hell is a giant office?"

"Exactly."

"So why am I here?"

"You are here to see Hell, in the hopes that you will come out a better writer."

"Okay then."

"Let's start. This is the first level of Hell. The least severe. It is reserved for those who use other people's idea and don't give credit."

"That's happened to me before. I hate it. So what are they doing?"

"They are cursed to have every single one of their ideas taken from them, and given no credit."

"Ideas for what?"

"This is the Fanfiction branch of Hell. The writer's branch produces original ideas, and the people here edit them and add interesting ideas. Each level has a different job. When the stories are finished, the demons take them and distribute the ideas into the minds of human writers in the form of inspiration."

She seems so happy, which is strange, since this is Hell.

"What kind of stories do they make?"

"Horror stories, tragedies, crippling book endings that leave the reader devoid of happiness, and dehydrated from tears."

"So like what you did?"

"Exactly." Her proud smile makes me want to hit her. "Onto the next level, shall we?"

She doesn't give me a chance to answer before she pulls me through the dark hallway.

It is pitch black, and freezing cold. I hear strange noises and tortured screams. A wet feeling flies across my face right as the doorway opens into another pristine white office room.

"So who are these people?"

"These are the amateur writers who can't be bothered to be mentored, or improve, with boring underdeveloped plotlines."

"But it's not their fault they don't have experience."

"It's expected that new writers are not so good. But when they've been writing for a while, and they don't listen to criticism… well that's when they end up here. A year ago we were betting on whether you would improve or not. For a while you had me stuck. I was sure you would end up here, but you pulled through."

"Ummmm. Thank you?"

"No problem."

"So what is their punishment?"

"They wanted to be like children so we treat them like children. Constantly patronized, treated like children whose ideas are worth nothing."

I look at some of the people. Their faces aren't blank and concentrated like the ones before, I see redness in their face. Their jaws are clenched. I can see their anger.

"Next level."

Again we go through the doorway. It feels slightly warmer. I hear a pulsing that sounds like a heartbeat. My ears pop as if we are descending even though it feels like I am walking on level ground. A cloud of moisture hits me in the face like before. It must signify a doorway.

This time, when we open into another level I immediately notice a difference. Everything is the same except for the hundreds of kissing demons who are all over each other. The people typing at the computers look disgusted.

"Let me guess. These are the people who wrote really bad, cringe worthy fluff."

"Wow! You're really getting the hang of this. Yes. They wrote horrible, horrible romances that made people want to puke. I think you can tell what their punishment is."

"Sure. Can we move on to the next level this is getting a little uncomfortable."

"Let's hope you don't end up here then."

"I won't. I can't write romance to save my life."

"When we're done I can give you some tips."

I furrow my brow.

"Every time someone loves another person in your story you kill them" I say

"That's tip number one. You're already learning!"

Huh. That's interesting. I suppose it makes sense. She does work in Hell after all.

This time when we go through the door, it is noticeably hotter and there is a red glow. We must be getting closer to the Hellfire.

This next level seems pretty generic at first. That is, until I begin to hear the screams. Every few seconds a bunch of people will jump and cry out as if they are being shocked.

"These people are the ones who put incorrect ratings on their stories. Like someone who writes smut, but only rates it Teen instead of Mature. So they are cursed to constantly be scared or shocked when they least expect it."

"That seems fitting."

"Very much so. Let's move on.

The passageways are definitely getting hotter and brighter. I can feel it.

The next level is pretty much the same as all the others, although there is a strange buzzing noise, like many flies. And the people are all scratching themselves.

"What did they do?"

"These are the people with horrible grammar, or sentence structure to the point where the reader gets irritated."

"Are they getting swarmed by mosquitos?"

"Yes. And you see those people over there?" she points to the opposite side of the room where a group of people stand wearing onesies made out of a wool material that looks extremely itchy. They are all fidgeting. "Those are the ones who purposely misspell every word just to troll the readers."

"Ah."

"Yep. Oh here, wear this from now on. It's going to get really hot."

She gives me something that looks like a hazmat suit. I pull it on. She takes me through the doorway. I can feel the heat through the suit.

When I walk into the next room, I can immediately tell what's wrong. Everything in the room swirls and changes like an optical illusion. After a few seconds my head already hurts. I can't imagine what it must be like to be in this room for thousands of years. Even the people's bodies morph and they seem terrified.

"So why are they here?"

"These are the people who wrote stories where the cannon characters are chronically out of character, when they don't need to be. Like People who wrote stories where Four says 'OMG'. It makes me shiver at the thought.

"Oh. That's strange. Can we get out of here? It's giving me a headache."

"Oh sure."

This time the passage is so hot, I feel like I am walking through an oven.

When we get to the room. I notice it is completely different from all the other rooms. There is smoke in the air, sections of the wall spontaneously combust, and instead of typing on a computer, the people run naked through burning embers while demons laugh and throw coals at them.

"This," Veronica motions to the room with a proud smile, "Is the last level of Hell. It is reserved for those with disgusting ships such as Peter and Tris, Annabeth and Nico, there's even some Percy/Blackjack shippers in here."

"A demigod and a horse huh? How would that work?"

"You don't want to know. Anyways I think you can observe their punishment. They are embarrassed while in excruciating pain. Fun huh?"

"Um totally. So if this is the last level, what is through that doorway?"

"Let's go take a look."

She pulls me through a burning door, and the first thing I notice is lava. Lots of it. Everywhere she walks though, solid rock is formed. She leads me to the middle of the lava lake where there is an island with black sand and trees made of fire.

"This is the Island of the Satans."

"Satans, as in plural?"

"Yes we have a council of Satans. There's Rick Riordan, Shonda Rhimes, oh and there's my throne."

She points the a fiery chair with a sign on it that reads

_Veronica Roth:_

_Head Satan of the Fanfiction branch_

"So this is Hell?"

"Pretty much. I think it's time for you to return to your world. Hopefully you have a better understanding of your writing. Goodbye."

I jerk awake in my bed with a signed box set of the _Divergent Trilogy_ next to me.

"I need to take a writing class." I say.

**REVIEW!**


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